His Indecent Secrets (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire, BDSM Erotic Romance) Read Free

wonder where they are. She has completely lost consciousness during the plane ride phase and she has no idea how many hours they flew.
    Miguel brings her meals and books. He’s nervous and shy, refusing to look into her eyes or engage her in conversation.
    “Did he forbid you to speak to me?” she asks him.
    He shakes his head.
    She says gently, “Then it’s OK for you to talk to me. I won’t bite, regardless of what he tells you.”
    Still, Miguel keeps mute, looking shyly at her from beneath his thick lashes.
    She says, “Would it be too much for me to ask for some clothes?”
    She has not been given any clothes to wear. She has taken to wearing her towel and some sheets she found in the closet.
    Miguel shakes his head, clearly troubled. He says haltingly, “Sir . . . he no want you wear clothes.”
    Oh, so the boy speaks. She feels sorry for him.
    “Miguel, can you please tell me where we are?”
    He looks away and begins clearing her empty tray. “Sir . . . he no want me talk to you. No ask me no more, please.”
    Is he local? She can’t place his accent, but she thinks he’s Central American. Not Mexican, but one of the smaller countries. Then again, it’s hard to tell. She hasn’t been out of America before, thanks to her brutal self-imposed working schedule to rise to the top. How meaningless it all seems now – this rat race she has put herself through. And now look at where she is. From a successful, high-flying corporate executive, she has been reduced to the role of kidnapped sex doll – her body subject to the whims of powerful men.
    Worse still, despite the obvious danger she is in, she finds it perversely exciting to be the object of desire. To be in the tug of war between two identical, completely dominant alpha males. She is going to get killed for this, but at the same time, she has never been more alive than before.
    What does that tell her about herself?
    Just when she thinks she would die of worry and loneliness, Hugh comes on in the third day.
    “Your boyfriend hasn’t replied,” he remarks.
    She’s actually glad to see him. To see anyone, actually, in her isolation. But she’s also frightened. Hugh is a whipping electrical livewire – a dangerously unpredictable mess.
    “He’s not my boyfriend.”
    “Really?” He struts to her. She’s wearing a bath towel, wrapped just above her breasts. He strokes her face. “Of course. My big brother doesn’t do love and affection. He doesn’t do romance either, or anything women claim they crave. But that doesn’t stop them from flocking to him. From loving him.”
    He dips his hand to the swell of her breasts.
    “As I’m sure you do.”
    She nods warily. He runs a finger over the skin of her right breast just above the towel. His voice is husky and his eyes are dark.
    “Why hide your beauty under this?”
    He loosens the towel. It drops to her ankles. A shiver passes through her – mostly fear. But there’s also that skein of buried desire in it, deep and very, very complex. Hugh has a face she adores after all. A body to die for. Even if his mind is unstable and the soul that resides within is not the one she loves.
    The thing is . . . how unstable? Would he strangle her right now – his possible cash cow? She’s his bargaining chip after all. The trouble is she doesn’t know him. The same way she doesn’t know Channing at all, come to think of it.
    How did she get herself into this mess?
    He caresses her breasts. Their tips, so pointy and inviting. Her nipples harden despite her misgivings. All she has to do is look into his eyes and imagine . . .
    Submit .
    “Tell me what he likes to do to you. He likes to make you dress up, that’s for sure.” Hugh bends his lips down to nuzzle her neck. “What else does he like to do? This?”
    This is followed by his mouth on hers, his tongue insistently probing through her moist lips. If only he knew what Channing really does and does not to do her . . . but she’s not going to tell